Like Yesterday, Like Never
by TheMaskedButterflyMaster
Summary: People are born and people die. These are the only two things that one can predict. Life and Death. I wish I could have had the power to prevent her death. OC, not a mary-sue!
1. A Cold Like No Other

Author's Note: I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot. Enjoy!

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER ONE:_ A Cold Like No Other_

"The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her"

Unknown

I kept coughing; my throat was dry with the lack of saliva going down. I was half-expecting that my mother was going to step through my bedroom door and sit on my bed, her hands full with cup of honey and lemon and a jar of Vapor Rub. But when my father came through the door, I closed my eyes.

My mother would never walk through my door or any door, as a matter of fact. She couldn't; she was dead, after all.

"Marie, mi hija, here's a cup of lemon with honey. And I'll leave the jar of Vapor Rub on your nightstand, okay?"

I didn't answer him. I didn't want to. All I did was cough, some more and snuggle deeper into the blankets. I didn't want to talk; not now, not ever.

"Okay, mi hija. Please try to get better. We need to talk about things." I could hear him as he left the room and didn't entirely close my door. I knew what he wanted to talk about. I didn't want to though. This whole 'I-have-a-cold' predicament was the only thing that kept him from talking about my mother's death.

Once I heard him far away from my room, I threw off the covers and lifted the cup of lemon and honey. I drowned it down even though; it was supposed to taste tangy. All I could taste was the honey. He had made it too sweet. _'If she was here―'_

I didn't bother finishing that thought. There was no use in thinking about her; no matter what I would say, do, or think, she would never come back.

I coughed a bit more; this time, though, my throat didn't feel strained. I felt my own forehead. There wasn't a sign of a fever coming through. But then again, my mother knew when a fever came with just one single touch, I couldn't.

I sniffle; tears begin to sting my eyes. I lie back on my bed and draw the covers over me. I begin to drift to sleep, and hope that this is all just a dream.

"What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end."

The Things They Carried; Tim O'Brien

I felt cold and hurt, when I watched my father gather my mother's clothing. I knew what was happening even though I feigned ignorance. He was giving her clothing to his sister-in-law, my aunt, to dress my mother up for her funeral.

But as I stared down at her, she looks almost wrong. She looks too stuffed with whatever they stuff dead people with. Her skin is a white that only seems to enhance her death. The way her hands are folded over each other and placed at her midsection, makes want to fix them. She only held her hands that way when she was angry or sad. She should be buried with her happy pose.

She should be buried with her hands tucked into her neck and her face in a happy smile. Not in her sad-slash-angry pose.

"Marie, come on. It's time for eulogy. Tú padre va a ir primero."

I grow rigid at my aunt's soft touch. She guides me towards our seats. I look up and at the podium, my father stands there. He looks awkward and sad. He begins to speak but I don't pay any attention to his words. I only focus on his eyes.

His eyes were always this bright hazel. I had been jealous of them because I had received these dark brown eyes. They didn't seem that bright anymore, though. They seemed darkened with grief. And when they looked my way, which was about every two minutes, they seemed to shout 'Sorry.' I looked away every time.

My aunt's soft touch startled me out of my daze. "It's your turn, Marie."

I stand up and my eyes briefly survey the room. It's filled with family and friends. Some I know by names, others I've long forgotten about.

I carefully walk up to the podium; my father moves to the side and I place my hands on the podium's wood surface. I look back and see my mother still in her casket. She's dead. There's nothing else to say.

I open my mouth, "She…" I pause and look at the crowd. I start again, "She killed herself and I wish she hadn't."

I can hear the gasps and cries from families and friends. I can see my father begin to cry. I can feel this feeling of guilt crawl up my throat, or maybe, just maybe it's the cold that I still have.


	2. Funerals Are For The Dead

Author's Note: I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot. Enjoy!

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER TWO: _Funerals Are For the Dead_

"If you gave somebody your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?"

Nineteen Minutes; Jodi Picoult

I wasn't there when they began to lower the casket. The truth was that, I couldn't be there. I couldn't be there when they tossed flowers on top of her casket. I couldn't be there when my father took the shovel and threw in the first specks of dirt on top of her casket. I just couldn't be there.

My father didn't say anything when I wandered away from the crowd. It was better this way…. I guessed. His eyes were still a dark hazel. They didn't even spare a glance when I left.

Well, I didn't leave. I was still in the cemetery. I was just not anywhere near her grave. I walked in the opposite way where they were heading. I didn't want to know where she was going to be buried. I didn't want to ever come here, where people lay to decompose.

I read out loud from the headstones that I walk past by.

"Loving daughter, loving husband, loving wife, loving uncle…loving mother," the last one reminds me that everyone comes to get buried here. From loving mothers to daughters to sons to fathers; everyone comes to get buried here; even my own loving mother.

Something crashes into me. I know it's a small child because she softly says "Swory, Miss."

She hold out her gloved hands and I notice the small flowers that were probably ripped from the ground; their roots still partly noticeable. I look at her; her bright red coat clashes with the cemetery's dull grays. She looks young, probably about four or five years old and I'm surprised to see that there's no adult around. Or maybe she's older than she appears. But then, I remember her words '_S―wory Miss.'_ _She's young_, I finally decide. I touch her gloved hand, to humor her, to make her believe that she's strong enough to help me get up, and she disappears.

"The dead continue to converse with the living."

Thomas Harding

I run. I run away from where I am, towards a random direction. Once I collapse, I notice that I am there. I am there, there where she's buried. My father stands there alone. The place where the headstone stands is; it's almost cliché. Under a tree… but I know that she would have wanted that. She would have, wouldn't she?

"_Swory, Miss." _

I look around; there's no one. I dig my fingers into my hair, grab and tug a bit. It doesn't hurt, but it snaps me out of it. Out of whatever is happening. I look up and my father's back isn't towards me. His eyes meet mine and look at each other, "Sorry" we both say it at the same time.

He walks to where I am at and kneels down. He plants a kiss in my forehead. My eyes never leave him.

"You should pay your respects."

I crumble and he knows this. He squeezes my hand, (to give me courage, probably) gets up and walks away. I watch him leave. I keep watching until I'm forced to look at her. And when I do, the small girl is there, dropping those flowers with the roots still attached on top of my mother's grave.

Author's note: I'm sorry if this story's going slow. I just feel like I have to build up Marie up before The Autobots and everyone get involved. But the wait won't be long~!

:D


	3. Sector Seven Does Not Exist

Author's Note: I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot. Enjoy!

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER THREE: _Section Seven Does Not Exist_

"It is possible that there exists emotions that are still unknown to us. Do you remember how electrical currents and unseen waves were laughed at? The knowledge about man is still in its infancy."

Albert Einstein

Jonathan Miller let out the breath he had been holding in. He was glad that he was stationed at the sleepy town of Springcreek. Even though he was here to watch over one of their _assets_, he couldn't help but be glad that he was away from that awful base. It was always too cold for normal human standards, but then again, the _things_ that were residing there weren't human. Just like that one he was supposed to be watching.

He held the binoculars to his eyes; he could see as family or the grave diggers filled the asset's grave. "It was a damn shame," he whispered to no one. His binoculars followed the figure that was all the way far away. "But necessary."

He packed up his tools, not before shutting off his EMF meter, waiting for the reading 19.50 to vanish away from it and from his eyes.

Jonathan Miller drove back to the small house that acted as a base. It was more of a home than a base. He couldn't stand the original base, why would he want a replica of it?

He could feel the small voice nagging in his mind; telling him to call his superior, telling him to turn the girl in.

"19.50," he whispered again, as her entered his home. It was the highest reading he had seen since he originally met the deceased asset, which was about three years ago. But…but what if he didn't report her, and she turned out to be a real threat? Then, it would be _his_ fault and he'll be thrown out so fast that he'd never be part of any law enforcement. "But she's just a teen…," he reasoned.

'_So was she,'_ the thought snuck up to his mind so fast that he couldn't breathe. He remembered his first encounters with Sector Seven's assets. Actually if he closed his eyes, he could picture the scene and hear their screams. _'All that havoc caused by five-year-old child…A teen will bring more problems.'_

Jonathan Miller made up his mind. He ran up the stairs of his house, barged into his room and digs through his closet. He pulls out the shoebox, one he hoped he would never had to open, and opens it up. The cell phone sits there and he picks it, dialing a number he learned to remember a long time ago.

**Author's Note:** I've decided that this story will take a month before the first Transformers movie. It will sort of go into the events of the movie. Not many, though. I was wondering if the Sector Seven main base is at Hoover Dam or is that one of many bases. If anyone can answer that for me, I'll be very grateful.

:D


	4. Blood and Coughs

Author's Note: I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot. Enjoy!

**XxxX**

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER FOUR: _Blood and Coughs_

**XxxX**

"When I see ghosts they look perfectly real and solid - like a living human being. They are not misty; I can't see through them; they don't wear sheets or bloody mummy bandages. They don't have their heads tucked under their arms. They just look like ordinary people, in living color, and sometimes it is hard to tell who is a ghost."

CHRIS WOODYARD, Invisible Ink interview

**XxxX**

I hesitate, before getting up. My legs feel like cramping up, but I ignore them. I walk to the little girl and I can feel _something_ with every step that I take towards her. _'She's just a little girl,'_ I think. _'A little girl that's a ghost…'_ I shake it off.

I pull the sleeves of my black dress down. It's not cold but seeing what I am seeing, chills me. I stand next to her. She looks up to me. I'm way taller than her. Her head turned towards me. I stay still. _'If I ignore her,' _the thought keeps repeating itself in my mind like a mantra. But I know that no matter what I think or do, she'll still be there. Even if I close my eyes, she'll still be there. If I do anything, she'll still be there.

She slips her fingers into my mind; she isn't cold or hollow as one would expect. She's warm, like if she was still alive.

"_S-s―wory, Miss."_

I sigh and look at where the flowers were supposed to be; they're still there, whether they are visible by anyone but me is another story. But I can see them and I squeeze the little girl's hand. "So am I, little girl. So am I."

When she lets go of my hand, I look to my side and she's not there anymore. And the flowers that lie on my mother's grave are gone, too.

I turn around, wipe my eyes, and walk towards the car. It's the family car; the one that Mom and Dad had since they first got married. My father stands next to it, staring at the door handle, his fingers barely brushing the car. I brush right past him and open the driver's door. I get in and close it. I wait for my father to go around and get in the passenger seat.

He doesn't. I look at him. He looks at me. The girl is next to him, her gloved hand poised for action, almost. It's surprising that he can't see her. She looks so real, so human, and so alive that I'm almost tempted to open the door and introduce them to each other. And I do. I open the car's door and open my mouth to introduce them to each other, but I don't. I don't because I don't know her name. And when I reach out to grab her hand, she disappears again.

I break down. I collapse right there, in front of my father and cry. My father didn't say anything. He just holds me, he just holds me and I was thankful for that. Because I'm so messed up right now that I don't want to listen to anyone's pity or shit. I just want to cry because my mother isn't here. I want to cry because I don't know the little girl's name. I want to cry because I think that I am going crazy.

**XxxX**

We head home. Even though, it may never be the same without my Mom; we still go there. We leave the car in the cemetery because it was too painful to sit in something that holds so many memories of my Mom and my Dad's love.

My Dad supports me as we walk home. We ignore all the pitying looks we get. It's a small town, so when they see the two of us walk by, with our black clothes and my tear-stained face; they all know that we had come from my mother's funeral. They all know that she's dead and that she died by her own hand. They all know and I could care less.

The little girl keeps appearing almost everywhere I look into a window. But I ignore her because she's not my mother. And she's not my problem.

Once, we arrive home, we go into different directions. I head to my room and Dad heads to some other room that hopefully doesn't conjure up any memories about my mother. But that's impossible… because she lived in this house. She─

I slam my door, getting rid of those thoughts. And it works, for a second, before I spotted her picture on my nightstand. Then the tears began to fall. I sat on the floor and brought my knees to me. I wished she hadn't died. In my room, it's quiet. All I can hear is my stupid tears, but even those are quiet.

And then, I hear something. It's almost faint enough, that I can't hear it but I do. _'Laughter,'_ is the only thought that passes through my head. But it stops. The quiet seeps back into my room. I glace all around, I strain my ears, but nothing. It's quiet again. But then, it's too much. It's too quiet. Too quiet, it's too quiet in a house that used to be filled with so much joy, with so much laughter.

Suddenly a coughing fit starts. I feel as if I can't breathe. And when I try to hold the coughs in, I taste copper. _'Blood_,' I open my mouth and the blood comes pouring out. My stomach tightens. Coughs don't stop and I'm starting to choke. The blood doesn't stop coming out. The coughs and blood mix, and I know it's bad. I'm chocking and the door swings open. My hands take a hold of my throat and I feel them squeeze. I know I'm being controlled but by what?

Hands take my wrists and pull them back. The blood still comes out and then I feel a needle pierce my arm. I struggle and then, a soft feeling passes through me. I calm down and then I close my eyes.


	5. The Start of Something Horrible

**Author's Note:** I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot.

Dedicated to: **Jun Jin, Ironhide and Lennox **and the anonymous reviewer **Shammie**.

There are abbreviations:

**A&Ox4:** Aware and Oriented to the person, place, time and circumstances

**HR:** Heart Rate

**BP:** Blood Pressure

Enjoy!

**XxxX**

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER FIVE:_ The Start of Something Horrible_

**XxxX**

"There ain't no rules around here! We're trying to accomplish something!"

Thomas Alva Edison (1847-1931) U.S. inventor.

**XxxX**

_I struggled to breathe. Every time I felt air come in, it would immediately be pushed out. It would be pushed out so forcefully and quickly that blood would be the only thing I could taste and breathe._

"It's against―!"

"I know it's against what the chief said!"

_I could feel hands begin to hold me down. _'Please, let me breathe,'_ I thought. The blood kept pushing away the air I needed. _'Please, let me breathe.'

"She needs this! The last injection was well over a week and the convulsions began again! She needs this!"

"…Let me do it. You're not _that_ much of a trained professional…"

_The needle hurt. It was the worst pain of my life right after the blood. But I could breathe. I could breathe._

"What are you doing?"

"We need her to be down. If she A&Ox4, the chief will flip… she won't have anymore convulsions with this."

_This needle felt softer but―_Oh, FUCK!_ It felt like my body was on fire! Melting-hot fire! Scar-leaving fire!_ 'Stop, please! Stop! Stop!'

"Her BP's falling! Her BP is fucking―!"

"I can― FUCK! Moore, two milligrams of―HURRY―FUCK―"

_I could feel more needles being inserted. Fire and ice fought over the control of my body. _'Stop this fucking torture!'

"She needs―Hold―legs―lift―MOORE!"

"I―She―strong―fucking―spirit―out!'

_The fire seemed to be winning. It engulfed my torso and was working its way up_. 'Spirit? What spirit? Is it the little girl? The little girl that I saw today or did time already pass? Was it the sweet little girl that looked so real, was this her fault?'

"HR―normal―BP―normal―Everthing is now fucking normal…Fucking miracle…"

_There wasn't a fight anymore. The fire and ice calmed. They reached an agreement. I wasn't dying anymore…They weren't fighting anymore. _ 'Thank you'

"Did you feel it, Sokoloff?"

"What, Moore?"

"You know what!"

"…We'll get fired, if we're caught here. Let's go."

_Someone patted my head and it felt calming. It was a woman, I think. Her hand felt so soft and calming._

"Do you feel it, Sokoloff?"

"…Let it go, Moore. She's out of our league."

_The feminine hand stroked my cheek and traced the contours of my face._

"Sokoloff, she's just a teen."

"So is everyone here; some even younger. Forget it, Moore."

_Her hand began to intertwine itself with my hair._

"Sokoloff, you're a heartless bitch, you know that?"

"Need to be one, for this job, Moore. Let's go or I'll rat on your ass."

_Her hand began to stroke my nose… kind of like my mom used to…_

"She's here, isn't she?"

"They're always fucking here. Moore, _**let's go**_!"

'Mom, are you here?'_ The hand stopped its movements before continuing. _'Mom, is it you?'

"Scared, Sokoloff?"

"No, I've dealt with three of them. I can do it again."

_I could hear them leave and the hand still stayed there. I didn't know who it was but I didn't complain. I couldn't anyway. I fell asleep before I could think another word._

**XxxX**

A/N: If anyone is confused, contact me. I'll explain what happened in this chapter. And yes, a week had passed since Sector 7 took Marie from her house.


	6. Mind, a Woman and Steven Moore

**Author's Note:** I do not own Transformers, only my character and this plot.

Dedicated to: **Ironhide and Lennox**

Enjoy!

**XxxX**

**Like Yesterday, Like Never.**

CHAPTER SIX: _Mind, A Woman and Steven Moore_

**XxxX**

"There ain't no rules around here! We're trying to accomplish something!"

_Thomas Alva Edison (1847-1931) U. S. inventor_

**XxxX**

She could hear beeps.

Slow and steady beeps…_Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep_.

She could move her hand, her fingers.

She could move her arms. Slightly, the restraints held little mobility.

She could move her legs. Once again, slightly, because of the restraints.

She could open her eyes.

She could see.

She could see the machines that were hooked up to her.

She could see the white sheets

She could see the dull beige walls that were _not_ in her room.

She…she couldn't remember her name. It's not like she chose to forget it. It was on the tip of her tongue. She just couldn't remember it. She also couldn't remember what day it is, or the month, or how many weeks she has been here; or where _here_ even_ was_.

She tries to bury herself into the soft but she finds that simple movement becomes difficult with the restraints. She sighs, she can at least wiggle her legs; the holds on her ankles aren't that tight but they aren't _that_ loose.

She can feel the coldness of the room. It doesn't make her shiver; it makes her cool, almost calm down. She closes her eyes; she wants to know where she is. She wants to know how much time had passed since she'd seen that little girl.

_**Marie Di Bonaventura**_

The thought entered her mind so quickly that she didn't register that _that_ was _**her**_ name.

_**You are seventeen years old.**_

Her eyes snap open. The voice wasn't hers. The monitor's beeps increase by only a bit.

_**You're in **_Sector Seven_**.**_

She looks around; her eyes scout the room. No windows, machines hooked up to her, no clock, and no time; just machines and a door. She growls, frustrated that she doesn't know where she is.

_**They won't harm you **_that_** much if you behave.**_

The voice is laced with concern but Marie doesn't know who it is. She wants to at least know _something_. She just wants to know _something._

_**My name is Allegra. They call me **_Mind.

'_Allegra,_' she thinks. Allegra, Allegra, Allegra; she knows this and it makes her feel calm. She, at least, knows something about this place she is staying in.

_**They'll be headed to your room in a few minutes. Don't do anything to anger them.**_

Concern is once again laced in Allegra's voice. She doesn't feel her anymore. Was it all in her imagination?

The door opens and she can see two people, a man and a woman, in coats enter. The man hesitates, while the woman strides into the room, confidence radiating off her like a bad stench. She looks up at them, and flinches when the woman tightens the restraints on her wrists. She can't move them now, and maybe, even feel her hands.

The man stays out of the way. He looks at her and her at him. He's the one that breaks the eye contact first.

"Moore, did you leave the door open?" the woman's icy tone makes Marie feel cold. It makes the monitor's beeps increase by more than a bit.

The man, although frustrated by the woman, follows that woman's orders. Closing the door and locking it. He comes back and stands by Marie's right side.

The woman on her left, shakes her head and murmurs something about 'stupid morons' before facing Marie. She places her glove-covered hands on her face; opening her mouth, shoving a thermometer under her tongue. She closes her mouth before anything else can get shoved in her mouth. The doctor scowls, before opening her eyes and blinding her with a bright light. In a matter of seconds, the thermometer is out and the light disappears.

She blinks her eyes and waits for a few seconds before the annoying bright spots disappear. Once the spots disappear, Marie looks up and her eyes catch the male doctor's ones. They're a light blue, filled with a slight innocence and guilt.

_**That's **_Steven Moore._** He's new. His interest in joining **_Sector Seven_** is starting to wane. **_

Allegra's voice fills Marie's head. _'What is Sector Seven?'_ she questions.

_**They're―**_

Pain is sent through Marie's thoughts. Marie jerks up but not much for she's shoved down. _**HARD.**_ She half-expected that it's Steven Moore who shoved her down and is surprised that it's the woman doctor.

"Mind's acting up _**again**_. You probably felt her pain. Keep talking to her and she'll feel _**more**_."

The woman's voice freezes Marie's thoughts, actions, and her very own soul. She shuts her eyes and nods her head.

A needle pierces Marie's hip and she digs her nails into her palms to stop from screaming. She doesn't know if the woman is purposely hurting her or if the liquid in the needle hurts this bad.

Hands pry open her eyes and a light is shot into them.

"Dilated pupils," Marie hears the woman say.

Her mouth is gently pried open. _'It's Steven,'_ Marie thinks. A cold liquid is poured into her mouth. A simple touch to her neck and she swallows it.

The covers are pried off her and her white gown, or whatever she is wearing, is taken off. Marie wants to cover herself up, but she can't; _'the restraints,'_ she thinks bitterly. She opens her eyes and watches as the woman inserts another needle into her stomach. She lets out a blood-curling scream.

She feels the liquid enter her bloodstream. It swirls with her blood; all of it traveling wherever her blood goes; in her heart, in her arms, in her legs, in her whole entire body. It burns, it hurts, and it makes her believe that she will _never_ be normal.

**XxxX**

Author's Note: It's been a long time since I've updated. Sorry; things just got busy with school and family and other things. But I've updated and I'm happy about that. I've decided that the Autobots and Sam Witwicky will make an appearance in the next chapter. :D

I would like it if people would give me constructive criticism as well, as reviews. Either one is welcome.

Thank you for reading.

See ya in the next chapter.

:D


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